


Man of War

by thefuzzyaya, Wingittofreedom



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Angst and Romance, Comic, Graphic Novel, Illustrations, Jealous Spock (Star Trek), Love Triangles, M/M, Possessive Spock (Star Trek), Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:21:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 12,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23438386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefuzzyaya/pseuds/thefuzzyaya, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wingittofreedom/pseuds/Wingittofreedom
Summary: Mirror!Spock arrives in the Kelvin timeline. His motives are unclear, but one thing is certain: he wants Jim. Torn between a dangerous stranger and his seemingly dispassionate first officer, Jim has to make a choice.
Relationships: James T. Kirk/Mirror Spock, James T. Kirk/Spock, Mirror James T. Kirk/Mirror Spock
Comments: 578
Kudos: 1286





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Gentle readers! This story was inspired by [@thefuzzyaya](https://thefuzzyaya.tumblr.com/)'s amazing art on tumblr. She and I both wanted to make sure any AO3 folks who don't use tumblr got to see. This story is ongoing, and will come out at a pace with thefuzzyaya's drawings; she publishes new pages about once a week, so expect updates regularly. 
> 
> Thank you to as always to the wonderful [summerofspock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerofspock/pseuds/summerofspock) for the beta. And to [Dogtagsandsmut](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dogtagsandsmut) for helping with translation!

The air burned. 

New Vulcan’s heat did not lessen until well into the night, and at early evening, the sky was on fire. Below it, the city of _Uzhau_ stood at the edge of the desert: a sprawling, irregular outline against the orange horizon.

 _Uzhau._ In Vulcan it meant renewal, or ‘new life,’ but although Spock had been in the city for less than a day, he had already heard its other name. _Maf-tor._ The City of Weeping.

From behind him came the quiet sound of a door sliding open, but Spock didn’t turn. He knew who it was. Long instinct kept his body alert to any threat, but logic reminded him there was none. 

This was a soft world. 

Or perhaps a more logical one—though the very name of this planet suggested otherwise.

“So,” Spock said, facing the city that should not exist. “In your world Vulcan was destroyed, and this is all that remains of my people?” 

_My people. Although I do not belong here._

“I grieve with thee,” Jim said, and Spock heard him step closer. “The Federation is trying its best to help strengthen New Vulcan.”

As Jim drew next to him, Spock caught his achingly familiar scent, more potent in the heat of oncoming night. Even a universe away, he smelled the same. 

Hands clenched into fists, Spock did not allow himself to look, keeping his eyes trained on the city below them.

“Vulcans from all over the galaxy are returning here,” Jim was saying. “New Vulcan will be grateful for anyone. Besides,” a hint of humor entered his voice, “you’re not the first Spock from a different dimension to land here. You’ll be welcomed.”

Spock closed his eyes, letting the familiar voice wash over him. It’s tone was hopeful in a way his Jim’s never had been, and for a brief moment he allowed himself to believe it. That in this world things would be different. That he could turn, take Jim in his arms and have him. Be with him again.

“Stay,” this other Jim said, putting a hand on Spock’s shoulder. “Nobody will find you here. I promise.”

The words were like a knife in Spock’s side. It took all his training to remain still as he remembered _his_ Jim saying those same words. The firm hand on his shoulder like a promise.

A broken one.

Spock could still remember the look of pain in Jim’s eyes as he keyed in the eject sequence. The one that sent Spock’s escape pod spiraling away into space as Jim turned their ship to face their pursuers: Spock shouting and beating at the unbreakable alloy of the viewport in an utter loss of control as he watched Jim’s ship, full of red matter, smash into the hull of the Empire’s man-of-war. The memory of helpless grief. Of knowing that his _t’hy’la_ was dead even as he was ripped out of his own universe.

Breathing out slowly, Spock made an effort to regain his composure and opened his eyes. He turned, taking Jim’s hand in his own and looked into his familiar yet new face. 

Unblemished by scars or lines of hatred, this Jim was beautiful in a way that didn’t exist in his universe. Spock knew it was folly to compare them and yet…

The Jim in his own world had never truly been his. 

Could not be, despite the nights Spock had spent in his bed and the link they had shared. No one could truly belong to another under the Empire. Spock could feel its hunger even here.

“You do not understand,” he said, mind seeking the tantalizing rush of _Jim’s_ thoughts through the contact—warmer and calmer than they had ever been before. “They will come for me.”

Spock could hear Jim’s heartbeat. The quickening of his thoughts as Spock’s face tilted toward his.

“What did they do to you?” Jim asked breathlessly.

 _"Heh ri dungi kal-tor nash-veh au nem-tor du s'nash-veh va'ashiv,"_ Spock murmured as he leaned closer. _I will not let them take you from me again._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to [summerofspock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerofspock/pseuds/summerofspock) for the beta. And to [@uzh_shai](https://twitter.com/uzh_shai) for the help with the Vulcan translation from the previous chapter!

The scars on the backs of his hands. His pierced ears and the look in his eyes that was too much like cruelty. The _beard._

Jim should be repelled.

“He is not me,” Spock ( _his_ Spock) had said. “Do not trust him.”

Jim didn’t need to be told that. He wasn’t stupid. He knew there were things this Spock wasn’t telling him, and it was obvious from the man’s body language alone that trust wasn’t his M.O. He moved like a caged tiger _,_ for fuck’s sake. The warning signs were practically screaming and even Jim knew it would be a bad idea to ignore them. 

There was something _wrong_ with this Spock—and his Spock was right. Jim shouldn’t trust him.

He wanted to anyway. 

Maybe because Jim really didn’t believe in no-win scenarios, or because no matter what his Spock said—this _was_ Spock. Dangerous and a stranger though he was, this was _Spock_ , his dauntless, incomprehensible friend, and Jim felt compassion instead of fear when he saw his scarred hands and the coiled tension in his body. 

But compassion didn’t explain why Jim did nothing to stop the hot kiss this Spock pressed against his mouth. Or the arm that curled around his back. Possessive, reminding him how much stronger Spock was.

Jim wanted Spock to kiss him. Heat was coursing through him and his heart was beating wildly in his chest—not entirely from desire.

He felt like _prey._

Prey, as this other Spock took control of the kiss, stepping— _stalking_ —forward and pressing Jim back through the balcony doors. Prey, as he was lifted fully off the ground, half-thrown onto the bed and pounced on. Prey, as Spock’s teeth bit the junction of his neck and shoulder, causing him to cry out.

Flushed and panting, Jim tried to assert some control—but Spock’s hot mouth was everywhere; his hands felt too good and Jim couldn’t focus. He felt like he was being _consumed_ —the distant warning voice at the back of his mind drowned out by onrushing heat as Spock yanked his shirt up and almost off, leaving Jim’s arms trapped behind his head as Spock kissed and bit at his neck and chest.

Soon, all their clothes were gone, and Jim was feeling Spock’s body against his—hotter and harder than he’d imagined it would be, all the times he’d imagined doing this with his Spock.

“I want you,” Spock said in his ear, and his voice was hoarse with something that went beyond desire. Something painful and almost unhinged, and which _should_ scare him.

Jim knew Spock was waiting for an answer. That he was being given control for this brief moment and needed to make a choice. Now.

He brought a hand to Spock’s jaw, cupping his cheek and searching his face.

It was devastatingly open. His eyes were wild, almost despairing, and now that they were naked, Jim could see and feel how the scars on his hands wound up his arms and across his chest and back, twisting like red stains.

The decision Jim made felt like jumping off a cliff.

Lifting his head off the pillow, he brought his lips to Spock’s, kissing him more gently and sweetly than anything they’d shared so far. 

When he drew back after a few moments, Spock’s eyes were big and brown and he looked more like _Jim’s_ Spock than ever before and Jim wasn’t sure which one of them he was trying to kiss.

“I want you,” Jim said, because it was true. Because this Spock wanted him the way Jim wanted _his_ Spock to want him. Because this _was_ Spock, and no matter the universe, Jim felt a kinship with him that went deeper than blood, twine wrapped around his heart tugging on something that was maybe his soul. “Please.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to [summerofspock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerofspock/pseuds/summerofspock) for the beta. The quote in italics is from the Tanakh.  
> Warnings in endnotes

He remembers burning cities. 

Rivers of blood under skies choked with ash. Peoples, nations and authorities wiped out from the earth; obliterated and made as though they had never been at the behest of the Empire. 

The moans of the dying and the cries of those who survive do not affect him. Spock is Vulcan. Mercy is an indulgence neither he nor this universe affords.

_I will lay waste the mountains and hills and dry up all their vegetation; I will turn rivers into islands and dry up the pools._

His Captain is ever by him. 

Cruel blue eyes and a mouth that laughs at destruction. His hands are stained with the blood of thousands and his mind is…not whole. Madness lurks behind cunning schemes and Spock knows that there is something broken inside him. 

***

The first time his captain takes him into his bed, he looks at Spock with hungry eyes and Spock knows that he will become another sacrifice to that hunger. 

It is worth it.

Jim enjoys taking things, and ruining them more, but when he looks at Spock his eyes fill with indulgence, and sometimes when he says _“You’re mine,”_ it leaves his mouth like a prayer.

His mind is broken, but Spock does not care. When Jim agrees, he knits their _katra_ together and Jim becomes _his_ just as he is Jim’s. 

Their lives are war and vengeance, but there are quiet moments. In them, Spock imagines a different life. On a distant planet out of reach of the Empire, with skies the color of Jim’s eyes and where they could be free of this hunger and bloodlust. 

Where Jim’s mind could heal and Spock could care for him. Gently and slowly, without fear of what they will be forced to do to protect one another.

***

When they cut Spock open, Jim begs for mercy. 

This universe has none. 

Spock screams until he is no longer conscious, and when he wakes, Jim is cutting his bonds and tugging him towards the shuttle hanger.

Spock knows escape is impossible, and he tries to warn Jim, but Jim doesn’t listen and Spock screams as he watches him die.

He is still screaming when he wakes to Jim’s hands on his face. 

_Have I gone mad?_

“It was just a nightmare,” Jim says. “You’re safe.”

“Wh—what are you doing here?” Spock asks because Jim is dead.

“I just wanted to check on you.” A look of hesitation crosses Jim’s face. “I can leave if you want.”

There is all the tenderness and concern in his voice that his Jim’s had lacked, and Spock remembers where he is. That this Jim is not _his._

But he _is_ Jim, and Spock draws his face closer.

“No,” he says. “Stay. _Please_ stay.”

 _“This is madness,”_ Jim murmurs against his lips, half to himself.

Spock hushes him with a kiss. 

_Mine._

If this is madness, Spock does not care. Jim is alive and whole and Spock will keep him. 

No matter the cost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: allusion to genocide, descriptions of death and torture (brief), nightmares
> 
> Just a little reminder that as hot as he is, mirror!spock isn't exactly a good guy. danger is sexy...evil not so much.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to [summerofspock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerofspock/pseuds/summerofspock) for the beta.

It was so hot. 

Jim was panting and slick with sweat. The muscles in his abdomen were sore from clenching. Spock was so much stronger—his arms were _huge_ —and every time he rocked forward, Jim gasped as his whole body jolted with the motion. It was all he could do to keep his thighs pressed against Spock’s waist, and he felt bad that Spock was doing most of the work.

But it was so good, _it was so good_ _;_ when Jim closed his eyes he literally saw stars, squeezing in hot, bright surges out of the sky like melting candle wax. The heat inside him was too much, because this was Spock, _Spock_ , _his S—_

“Look at me.” 

It was a command, not a request. Spock’s hand squeezed Jim’s throat and for a second he couldn't breath. His vision went white.

The pressure disappeared, and Jim struggled to obey. He felt like Atlas lifting the sky, but he managed to blink.

Spock’s eyes were black, and full of possessive cruelty—like he knew who Jim was imagining. His hand was still on Jim’s throat and Jim felt a sudden fear course through him. Spock was so much stronger than him. He could probably snap Jim's neck with a single motion. Jim didn't think he would, but he didn't dare shut his eyes.

Spock leaned forward to kiss Jim’s chin, his eyes closing briefly—like he was trying to mimic the sweet kind of kisses Jim gives him.

The heat sent pleasure curling through him, but Jim knew he wasn't the one Spock was kissing.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gentle readers, I hope you're all keeping well and getting enough sleep 💛 Thank you to [summerofspock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerofspock/pseuds/summerofspock) for the beta.

Uzhau stood at the edge of the _Kur Eshikh_. The Yellow Desert, so named because it’s sands were lighter in color than the iron-rich red of Vulcan-that-was. 

Outside, wind blew through the city streets. Dry and strong, it picked up sand in small eddies: harbingers of a storm. 

Inside, Spock could hear the rasp of wind-borne particulate matter against the thick walls of the compound. It was a familiar sound from his youth. Without the blare of klaxons that would sound if wind-speeds reached dangerous levels, it was almost calming. In pre-Surakian times, legend had it that desert winds were truly gods. Ruinous and benevolent by turns, they brought forth deadly sandstorms and provided respite to travelers alike. As a child, Spock had believed these legends, and illogical though it was, the sound of the wind retained a numinous quality.

Striding down a corridor on his way to the designated meeting room, he paused when he heard another, more unexpected sound.

A laugh. 

It was familiar, and instinctually, Spock approached it’s source: a half open partition in the mouth of an adjoining corridor. 

“…want anyone to see,” he heard _Jim_ say. From behind the door there came the distinct sound of a bed creaking and feet padding across a floor. 

Dread froze Spock in place. Heart squeezing in his side, Spock's own breathing grew loud in his ears. He struggled to control himself, fighting the dread even before the next voice spoke. He knew who it would be.

“No one is here, Jim,” _Spock’s own voice_ said. “You need not concern yourself.”

There was another laugh, and Spock barely caught the next words over the roaring in his ears. His face burned and bile turned in his stomach. He knew he should step away, pretend he hadn’t heard—but his feet were rooted to the floor.

“I feel like a teenager trying to sneak out of my girlfriend’s house,” Jim was saying. There was the sound of rustling fabric.

“However that is not the case,” said Spock’s voice. “Therefore you may remain with me.”

The rustling stopped, and there was half a beat of silence. Involuntarily, Spock brought his head close to the door. 

“Spock…” Jim said slowly.

“Stay.”

The sound of someone dressing resumed. “I’d love to, but I can’t,” Jim said. Pants zipped. “First off, we have to finish the ship’s preparation, and in 10 minutes, I have a meeting with the senior staff.”

“We have so little time together.” A second set of feet touched the floor. “Less important matters can wait.”

“Second off,” Jim continued blithely as though no one had spoken—and through the haze of shameful anger, Spock recognized the tactic as one his captain often employed. “—humans need a break now and then.” There was a chuckle. “And in my case, a dermal regenerator. I’d rather not have to explain these bruises to Bones.”

There was a huff that Spock might have classified as a _laugh,_ had he not known its source was a Vulcan. It was followed by the sound of slow, measured footsteps.

“I must say,” said his own voice, several decibels deeper than it’s usual tone, “I prefer your appearance when you wear my marks.” 

A pause followed, and Spock heard a shallow inhale. 

After 4.8 seconds he could not help himself. Before he could think better of it, he looked around the door.

Despite knowing what he would see, it was still horrible.

Jim was pressed against a wall, eyes closed and mouth locked in a deep kiss with Spock’s counterpart. Horror and _fascination_ warred inside him, and Spock couldn't tear his eyes away. His counterpart drew back before he did.

“What was that for?” Jim asked, smiling up at the other Spock. 

His expression stung like a barb in Spock's side. It was full of open affection—of the kind that made Spock warm inside when Jim bestowed it on _him_ —and helpless jealousy burned in his stomach.

It was like looking into a warped mirror of his own desires. His shameful fantasies reflected back at him with all the clarity of a nightmare; and humiliated as he was by his own voyeurism, a perverse masochism kept Spock in place.

“I simply wish for your timely return after meetings,” said his counterpart, trailing his hand down Jim’s side before withdrawing it. 

Jim bit his lip, still smiling. “Okay,” he said, giving the other Spock a light kiss before moving away. The fresher door closed behind him, and Spock’s counterpart was left alone, standing in the middle of the room.

By now Spock had recovered enough control of himself to move away, and he was about to do so when—out of nowhere—he felt a violent, telepathic dagger stab against his shields, stronger than anything he had experienced before.

He was unprepared, and for a moment, Spock could not have moved even if he had wanted to.

“I know you’re here,” the other Spock said, menace plain as the words reverberated in Spock’s mind.

The paralyzing force released him as quickly as it had taken hold, and Spock stumbled backwards. He barely managed to avoid falling as he blindly sped down the corridor, face still burning and bile surging in his throat.

His hands found the cool durasteel of a door, and unthinkingly, Spock keyed in the open sequence, stepping out into the dry heat.

The wind speed had increased, and he had to bring up an arm to shield his eyes as sand bit into his skin. His head ached. He had known his captain frequently engaged in casual dalliances; the knowledge had stung, but it was magnitudes worse to have _seen_ it. Worse still that it had been with another version of himself. That Jim would engage with his body but not _him_ was humiliating. Was Spock himself deficient in some way?

In the distance, a klaxon sounded: an eerie wailing on the wind. Spock felt his energy drain away, and he leaned heavily against the compound’s outer wall, closing his eyes.

He still had to go to the meeting. Jim would be there. What would he look like? Without having _seen_ it, would Spock have been able to know he’d been fucked?

The meeting was in 2.73 minutes.

Spock stayed where he was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [@czarfleet](https://czarfleet.tumblr.com/post/615163257921142784/hfhfhfhfh-ive-been-thinking-about) did some [beautiful fanart](https://czarfleet.tumblr.com/post/615163257921142784/hfhfhfhfh-ive-been-thinking-about) of Jim and Mirrror!Spock. It's tender ;;;;; Please check it out! 
> 
> I'm on tumblr [@wingittofreedom](https://wingittofreedom.tumblr.com) while the artist of the amazing comics is [@thefuzzyaya](https://thefuzzyaya.tumblr.com/) (please check her out there, she has a lot of other really cool art Spirk art)!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Bee and [summerofspock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerofspock/pseuds/summerofspock) for the beta. The angst in this chapter wouldn't have been the same without you.  
> Warnings in endnotes

Removed from the psychic tumult and bustle of the city, the desert was vast and deceptively calm. 

As an adolescent, Spock had often wandered in the sands outside _Shi’kahr;_ for despite the danger posed by _le-matya_ and omnivorous _d’mallu_ vines, such walks brought his mind to a state of calm akin to meditation, enabling him to process the violent emotions brought on by puberty.

Spock was no longer a child, and this was a different desert—but with his thoughts in turmoil, he had instinctively sought refuge in the habit.

So when he saw the eerily familiar figure, just beyond a rise and moving through the poses of an unknown martial art, Spock was unsurprised. It felt inevitable. As though the bearded, more muscular version of himself was simply a manifestation of his thoughts. Another unavoidable struggle he would have with himself.

As Spock drew closer, the face which had disturbed his sleep with nightmares the previous night came into focus.

 _“It's the eyebrows,”_ Dr. McCoy had once said. _“And the pointy ears. Makes you look like the Devil himself.”_

Perhaps Spock’s human half was at fault for the imaginative fancy, but he found himself agreeing with the Doctor as he eyed his counterpart. Absurdly, the phrase 'speak of the Devil' suggested itself. Spock dismissed it as whimsy.

At last he was near enough for speech. “I did not set out to follow you,” he said. “Our meeting is merely an unfortunate coincidence.”

“Our _meetings_ occur too often for coincidence,” his counterpart said, finishing the strenuous set with ease. Spock watched his muscles tense and release. His counterpart was clearly stronger than him— _is that why Jim wanted you?_

The other Spock turned to face him, face empty of anything except expectation. Spock’s stomach twisted. How could Jim choose to be physically intimate with someone so calculating? Someone who shared his face but none of his beliefs. What did that say about Jim? About Spock for loving him?

His counterpart’s allusion to their previous encounter was plainly intended to provoke him. The nausea in his stomach was proof that it worked. But Spock would not allow his physical response affect this encounter. As much as he had tried not to think about what he had seen—what he knew—Spock had lingered on it. A terrifying conclusion had presented itself. Paired with his counterpart’s psychic attack, with his quiet, malignant expectation, Spock had since come to suspect that he had seduced Jim itself for the same purpose. Why this other Spock sought to provoke him into anger, he was unsure, but he would not allow himself to be baited again. 

“If that is the case, it speaks to your conduct as well as mine,” Spock said, his tone tightly leashed. “As well as to your attempts to flaunt your relationship with the captain.”

The other Spock tilted his head slightly. “It is amazing to me how you can be so similar to me, and yet cause me only irritation.”

“The sentiment is mutual, I assure you,” Spock said dispassionately. “What is your purpose?”

“You failed to save her.” 

For a moment, Spock was weightless, heart frozen in between breaths. Then the rock-solid ground was giving way, breaking and snapping beneath him in a violent, grinding upheaval as dust filled his eyes, helpless as his body dissolved amidst the whirr of a transporter.

A beat later, his heart juddered back into motion—too fast—his left arm twitching forward to save a woman who was already gone. He had to clutch it with his other hand to stop himself from completing the gesture.

“You failed to save Vulcan,” the other Spock continued. “You had everything that I was deprived of, but you were too weak to protect it.”

Still attempting to regain control of himself, Spock noticed with a thrill of horror that his counterpart was _enjoying_ this. He wasn’t even attempting to hide it: a barely restrained, malicious glee glinted in his eyes.

“You failed to save your captain,” his counterpart said, his eyes bright with malignant joy. 

_Jim._ In the warp core, gasping out his name. Laughing on the bridge. Across a chess table, smiling fondly. Yesterday. Kissing someone else. The knowledge of what Jim had done. Even through the deluge of emotion, the mention of Jim was enough to pull Spock back to reality, better instincts reared their heads, overtaking the hurt and the jealousy that could not be suppressed. Finally, when Spock spoke, his voice was surprisingly calm.

“It is not for you to speak of saving the Captain,” he said. “You have come to our world and are trying to take what does not belong to you.”

Anger sparked in his accuser’s eyes, hatred obvious in his curled lip.

Spock knew what was coming this time, but he barely had time to brace his shields before the malevolent force slammed against them. Focusing inward, Spock attempted to rebuff the assault—but his panic from moments ago had left gaping cracks in his defenses, and the telepathic force coiled through them like a snake, dark and sinuous, like choking vines that knew and exploited every one of his weaknesses.

Heavy tendrils wrapped around his abdomen and Spock felt his body being pulled downwards. He resisted, and a splitting, jagged pain tore through his mind, almost causing him to black out.

 _See?_ the voice seemed to hiss as it wrapped and coiled through his thoughts. _You’re weak._ _Nothing you can do will stop me from taking what I want._

 _I will not let you hurt him,_ Spock thought. And although the words felt small and foolish, the thought of Jim was a warm, safe glow in the tearing darkness. As he focused on it, Spock felt the coils around his mind loosen. _Jim._

Then the attack redoubled in strength, anger and spite quickly smoothed over by a veneer of disdain. Spock tried to hold onto his feelings for Jim. Hopes that had for so long been his respite in times of darkness. The warm glow. Except as he tried to summon the feeling of safety, he felt a dark ichor poisoning the light. His own jealousy, his own disbelief. Who was this Jim who would so easily succumb to the seduction of someone like his counterpart? 

Spock tried to ignore the doubts and the spreading grief but they had already taken root like choking weeds.

His counterpart knew. He knew everything. The pain in his head grew and Spock fell to his knees with a cry. His counterpart prowled slowly closer.

 _Jim?_ the voice mocked. _He belonged to me yesterday more than he ever did to you._

Spock’s mind began to flood with images he had never wanted to see. Sensations that filled his body with heat and desire for—

_Jim’s mouth on his, hot and demanding._

Not your kiss.

_Sliding his fingers in and out of Jim’s mouth, Jim’s wanton expression causing heat to coil in his abdomen._

This didn’t happen for you.

_Jim’s hands braced on his shoulders as he lifted himself up on Spock’s lap yet again, his laugh turning into a moan as Spock tugged him down._

Jim would never do this with you.

Through the rush of images, Spock could still see his counterparts sneering face growing closer, but he couldn’t move, he—

_Jim’s thighs squeezing his waist, slick with sweat and flushed an enticing pink, begging Spock to take him._

_Soft hair brushing his collar bone. Jim asleep, with his head on Spock’s chest._ His.

“Mine,” the other Spock said.

Suddenly, the squeezing force retracted, and Spock gasped for air, his vision briefly going dark.

He could hear footsteps departing in the sand, and by the time he regained awareness of his surroundings, his counterpart was gone.

Slowly, Spock got to his feet. His mind felt _wrong_ , as it had after the previous invasion. Doubts in Jim's character felt like cracks in his psyche; Spock had believed in Jim's goodness, yet how could the Jim he believed in be so callous? Doubt left room for more savage emotions. Anger and jealousy seethed inside him, squeezing as though the dark coils were still within him, filing him with a brutal desire for vengeance—not entirely his own. Feelings which were shocking in their violence and, if left unchecked, would leave only pain and ruin in their wake. For many others besides Spock.

 _Jim._ He had to warn Jim.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: PTSD flashback, evil telepathy (mental assault)
> 
> in the Tanakh "satan" translates to "the accuser." :O


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Bee for the helpful look over and to [summerofspock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerofspock/pseuds/summerofspock) for the angsty beta.

Stepping back from the intake manifold, Jim wiped his greasy hands on a towel. 

“You’ll be wanting another laddie,” Scotty said, handing him a second, this one from an ice cooler. 

_“Thanks,_ ” Jim said, accepting it gratefully. The giant doors of the docking bay were thrown wide, letting in a dry wind that did nothing to dissipate the massive amounts of heat given off by cooling spacecraft. After two hours of helping Scotty’s team clean and refuel shuttle engines in the broiling heat, Jim was both extremely sweaty and well past dignity. Moaning, he pressed his face into the wet towel, not caring that it dripped down onto his shirt in an un-captainly way.

Scotty laughed.

“It’s too bad Starfleet doesn’t approve of drinking on the job,” Jim said, lifting his face out of the towel. “I could seriously go for a beer right now.”

“Or six,” Scotty muttered as both of them stepped out of the way of an ensign pushing a palette jack, no doubt full of off-loaded supplies for the Vulcan colony.

“Not all of us can be Scottish,” Jim laughed. Copying Scotty, he slung the towel around his neck, relishing the coolness. 

“T’would be a p—” Scotty broke off, turning to chide a pair of engineers carrying a tank of cryogenic propellant in the wrong direction.

Jim was about to go back to the manifold when out of the corner of his eye, he saw a familiar figure. His heart jolted. Turning, his eyes met _Spock’s_ across the crowded room.

Spock gave a small wave and Jim’s face broke into a smile.

_‘_ _Over there’_ he mouthed, gesturing with his head towards a side exit.

Spock nodded in confirmation, and Jim’s stomach swooped, hot and cold all at once.

Quickly, he stepped around loose valves and Scotty’s engineers, making his way to the exit. Pushing open the heavy door, Jim felt relief as he stepped into the cooler air of desert evening.

You knew you were in trouble when a _desert_ felt refreshing by comparison, he thought. 

A moment later Spock joined him, looking completely cool and unruffled despite his black clothes. Jim couldn’t stop himself from smiling.

_I missed you._

Spock took his place next to Jim, posture neat and composed. An image of what he looked like _un_ _clothed_ flicked through Jim's mind, but he pushed it away.

“You didn’t happen to bring any beer with you, right?” he asked teasingly. 

Spock raised an eyebrow. “Alcohol is a nonessential commodity, therefore I doubt any is present on this planet at the moment.”

“Damn,” Jim said, trying and failing not to smile. 

In the hazy distance, another supply shuttle was making its way to the docking station, and Jim watched Spock track its progress.

“Indeed,” Spock said. The corner of his mouth was definitely quirked—but were his eyes tighter than usual? Jim wasn’t sure, and for a second, unease twisted inside him. 

He dismissed it. He was just reading into things.

“You weren’t at the meeting,” he said into the slight pause. “Did something happen? Is it your dad? I thought about checking in on him, but I wasn’t sure how happy he’d be to see me.”

Jim smiled ruefully. He’d worried about it all yesterday. Spock had been nowhere to be found, meanwhile the duststorm hadn't let up until evening. The klaxons made it sound like the city was crying, and he'd been afraid Spock was caught in the storm. He'd been this close to taking a transport to see Ambassador Sarek—but the last time Jim had seen him, it’d been with his son’s hands around his throat. Not the best impression. God, things had changed so much.

“My father is well, thank you.”

Studying Spock’s face for signs of fatigue or stress, Jim found none. But he knew by now that didn’t mean anything on a Vulcan. “I know how much you’ve got on your plate right now,” he began. It was the most delicate way he knew how to put ‘ _your planet was destroyed and now you’ve tasked yourself with rebuilding it_.’ “If your department needs more support, we can get you the people. I’m not above favoritism.”

Spock’s tiny smile was undeniable now, and Jim grinned back. No need to be nervous.

“The work is proceeding smoothly, Captain. There is no cause for you to worry.” 

“But you’d tell me if there was, right?” Jim asked, casually reaching up to scratch an itch on the back of his neck. 

He was watching Spock closely to see how he’d react—his first officer had never so much as been _late_ to a meeting, let alone missed one, and Jim wanted to make sure he was okay. So when Spock’s eyes slid away from his, apprehension knotted Jim’s stomach.

“Is something wrong?” he asked in a falsely calm voice, heart picking up. _It can’t be_ that _,_ he told himself. Spock _couldn’t_ know.

But Spock’s expression had closed. He was looking at the sand, his gaze focused on something Jim couldn’t see.

“Spock…” 

Apprehension choking him, Jim watched helplessly as Spock stepped away, hiding whatever emotion might’ve been visible on his face. For a moment they stayed like that: Jim with his back to the docking station and Spock with his back to Jim, facing the desert. Tension rippled between them and inexplicably, Jim’s palms began to sweat.

Spock turned abruptly. “My counterpart and I have spoken.”

_Fuck._

Jim’s heart skipped a beat. Spock _knew_. Suddenly aware of how cold and clammy the towel was on the back of his neck, Jim shoved down the irrational guilt writhing in his stomach. He hadn’t done anything wrong. He _hadn’t._

Why did it feel like he had? 

“I…” _I know what you're like in bed_ , whispered his thoughts. Jim told them to fuck off. “Spock. I can explain.”

Could he? Could he explain to Spock that he’d been so desperate he’d take anything? That it had felt so good to have a Spock that _wanted_ him he’d been willing to betray—

_I didn’t_ betray _anyone,_ he reminded himself. You _didn’t want me. You_ don’t _want me, so you don’t get to be mad at me now._

Spock’s expression had gone from closed to unbending. “That is not necessary. You are an adult, and as such it is your choice who you associate with,” he said. “Your habit of engaging in brief romantic liaisons is well known to me, as it is to the rest of Starfleet.”

Humiliation hit Jim like a scorching blow to the face. _That’s_ what Spock thought of him? Anger sparked in his stomach. It was _so_ much better than guilt.

“As for the actions of my counterpart—” Spock’s jaw hardened. “—I have no right to condemn them. Despite our similarity, he is not me.”

He was still talking. “I can only assume that he is partially motivated by physical attraction, as you are not aesthetically unappealing and I am aware that such a motive would be sufficient for you to commence a relationship.” 

_You’re easy. All he wants is to fuck you, and you let him because you’re a slut._

_Well fuck you too, Spock._ He barely heard Spock’s next words through the anger raging in his ears. 

“However, I must warn you. Our brief conversation led me to suspect that he has hidden motives. There is a possibility that his behavior towards you is merely an attempt to manipulate me.”

_No one would want you for_ you _._ I _don’t want you._

Jim brought his hands to his face, trying to control himself. He wasn’t going to yell at Spock. He wasn’t going to show him how much this had hurt.

“Of course, given your past experiences—”

“Stop,” Jim said, removing his hands from his face. “Please stop.”

“Captain, I simply wished to—”

“Warn me,” Jim interrupted. “I get it. You’ve made yourself very clear, Mr. Spock. My personal life puts you at risk because obviously the only reason someone might be interested in me is to get at you—or to get into my pants. Great. Thanks for that.”

“Captain. Jim. I—”

Jim held up a hand, anger hard in his stomach. “You’re dismissed, Commander," he interrupted. “Get back to work.”

Spock was _wrong,_ he thought as he strode away. Jim would prove it.

And if a small voice at the back of his mind whispered that he should stop, turn around and apologize—Jim told it to shut the hell up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [you're gonna lose that girl](https://youtu.be/vqpEZuv29qE) by the beatles is a mood for this story.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to [summerofspock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerofspock/pseuds/summerofspock) for the beta.  
> Warnings in endnotes

Spock breathed in. The scent of smoke and burning _mevak_ filled his lungs, drawing him back to consciousness. He estimated that he had been meditating for 1.42 hours.

The day had been taxing, and meditation had been necessary to restore his energy.

This universe was...perplexing. 

After subduing his weak, foolish counterpart, Spock had spent the day performing manual labor with a group of “volunteers.” It had been novel, and highly unsettling to see members of multiple species working together for the benefit of another. Spock kept waiting for them to turn on each other, but they never did. It was most unusual, and Spock was unsure if he approved.

But of the aspects of this universe that Spock was not yet accustomed to, the most disconcerting was the lack of fear these people exuded. It was as though they did not understand how capable of violence their fellow beings were. Spock found himself constantly on edge, tensed and ready for attacks that did not come. The longer calm continued, the more adrenaline built up in his body and the more taxed his psychic resources grew.

Hence why meditation had been necessary. 

Behind him, the pneumatic doors swished open and Spock tensed. Automatically, his mind lunged toward that of the invader, preparing to rip into it with the _kashek-wun_ —the dagger of the mind. 

But Spock quelled his reaction in time. Only one other person had the code to this room, and the now-familiar hum of thoughts assured him there was no danger. 

Other than himself. Fear for another stabbed at him where anger had been. One of his fists clenched. It was well that Jim had intruded during a calm moment, or Spock might have damaged him. 

Spock found himself constantly afraid of hurting this version of his lover—with reason. Where his Jim had known to shield his thoughts and been as capable of causing harm as he, this Jim was softer, smaller, and more unguarded, and Spock had to be gentle with him in ways he was unaccustomed to.

The quiet pad of Jim’s feet across the floor reassured him that Jim had experienced no alarm.

“What’s that?” Jim asked, padding towards him. 

“A meditation lamp,” Spock said, knowing that Jim meant the _asenoi_. “It serves to help regulate the user’s emotions.” 

Through his lashes, Spock watched the flickering flames cut through the blue of the room. The _asenoi’s_ fire represented emotional control. Originally it had been intended as an offering to _Ti-Valka’ain_ , the pre-reform god of fire and change, who it was said would one day consume Vulcan itself and end all things.

Spock supposed that, in this universe, that end had already occurred.

“And it helps?” Jim asked.

Spock felt Jim pause behind him, and again he had to quell the impulse to defend himself. He was viscerally aware of how exposed the back of his neck was. The concept that this Jim would not use the position to his advantage was still foreign. The same could not have been said for his own Jim.

“To a certain degree.” Spock’s tone was somewhat wry. Meditation had been more difficult lately. Ever since—

Ever since—

Heart squeezing in agony and rage, Spock could not complete the thought, powerless against himself. 

Just then, he was surprised to feel a soft head settle between his shoulder blades. Then a warm arm pressed against his back as Jim leaned against him.

Spock’s eyes fluttered open. His heart was squeezing for entirely different reasons now: confusion and tenderness warring within him. 

He was...unused to this. 

In his universe, intercourse between men was only recognized as a form of violence or domination—and he was continually surprised that this Jim felt no shame, and only pleasure in submitting to him.

Moreover, in his universe xenophobia was so pervasive that interspecies relationships were punishable by death. His relationship with his own Jim had been a closely guarded secret—which was why he so fiercely relished being able to display his relationship with Jim here and laud it over his counterpart—but even when he and his own Jim had been alone, their relations had often been violent and as much like pain as pleasure. Caresses had been few and occurred almost exclusively during intercourse. Spock could count on one hand the number of times his own Jim had touched him in the way Jim was touching him now: gentle, trusting, and without sexual intent.

The tenderness and pleasure were so acute it almost hurt: like something fragile and tentative was cracking open inside him. For a moment, Spock could not help but fantasize about his _own_ Jim touching him in this way. Of being able to hold him while he slept, as this Jim allowed him to do.

Pushing away the painful, impossible thoughts, Spock tried to focus on the man who was with him now. 

“You’re so _tense,”_ Jim said teasingly, reaching up and rubbing one of Spock’s shoulders. “I think somebody needs a massage.”

The idea of Jim’s hands on him was very enticing, but the thrum of Jim’s thoughts had grown more distinct with touch, and beneath the warm rush of affection, Spock sensed other feelings. Tiredness. Insecurity. And something simmering beneath, out of Spock’s reach. He could likely take it from Jim's mind without his knowing, but for some reason, he did not wish to do so.

“What worries you?” he asked quietly. “You may tell me.”

Jim huffed a laugh. “Reading my thoughts?”

“Only your surface emotions,” Spock said. “You feel quite ‘loudly.’ The sensation is reminiscent of static electricity at one’s fingertips.” 

Even without access to Jim’s emotions, Spock could've guessed at his mental state. His own Jim had been much harder to read, and Spock had learned to recognized his habit of using physical intimacy to distract from other feelings. This Jim appeared to share the same trait.

“Sorry,” Jim said, shifting against him contentedly.

“Apologies are unnecessary,” Spock said, almost too quickly. “It is…pleasant.” 

His own heart felt soft and unguarded, and Spock wondered if this was why gentleness was eschewed in his universe. It made the fear of wounding greater. He was fully aware that Jim had avoided his question, and he was unsure what that meant. 

Behind him, he felt Jim shift, wrapping an arm around him, and through their connection, Spock sensed a focusing of intention.

“Hey,” Jim breathed against the back of his ear. Spock repressed a shiver of anticipation as Jim’s thoughts took on a tone that was not arousal, but bordered on it.

“Meld with me,” Jim whispered.

***

Far from the compound, Spock made his way to the outskirts of the city. 

New Vulcan’s night was cool and pleasant, but Spock did not notice. His heart was in turmoil. Within it, he could still feel the swirling darkness of doubt, jealousy, and anger: vestiges of his counterpart’s attack this morning. 

His conversation with Jim had not helped as he had hoped. Indeed, his darker emotions had been heightened by frustration; everything he had said to Jim had been true, and yet Jim had reacted as though Spock were attempting to insult him. Perhaps he had been. Spock could no longer trust his own mind, troubled and thick with darkness as it was.

Or rather, he could not trust his own mind in its _present_ state. 

When he reached the address he had been given by his father, the temporary housing unit appeared small and unadorned like all the others. But as he drew closer, Spock noticed with a jolt that there were already several tomato plants growing outside it, alongside what he suspected were ornamental flowers.

He would never outgrow his illogic, it seemed. Spock was unsure whether he should consider this to be a blessing—but his mother would have approved of the plants and he supposed that was something.

Nevertheless, he hesitated before pressing the buzzer. 

As much as he desired guidance, he did not wish to divulge his emotions to another. Specifically not another Vulcan. It went against years of training and hard learned lessons, and inside him, the darkness whispered that he was right: turning away now was his best option. For what advice could even an older version of _himself_ have? Would Spock reveal his trouble only to be mocked? Would he too tell Spock that he was weak?

That was too far. Even now, Spock recognized these whispers for the lies they were: fears echoing down from his childhood, unreliable and magnified by his counterpart’s invasion.

Breathing out, Spock pressed the buzzer before he could rethink his decision. 

8.4 seconds elapsed, and Spock began to hope that his elder counterpart would not answer. Perhaps he was not home. Perhaps—

The door opened, revealing a calm, wizened face. 

There was a brief pause as Spock was observed by twinkling brown eyes. Then the older Vulcan moved aside. “Please come in,” he said. “I have been expecting you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: mentions of homophobia and xenophobia, stigma towards bottoming (in the mirrorverse)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to [summerofspock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerofspock/pseuds/summerofspock) for betaing!  
> Warnings in endnotes. Also this story has officially moved from an "M" to an "E."

Jim was naked.

Biting his lip, he beckoned his lover forward. Spock’s eyes were black as they took him in, heating his skin like a physical touch. Swallowing heavily, Jim felt the heat course through him like a swig of whiskey. Decadent and smooth, it hummed inside him like anticipation: a promise of what was to come. 

Spock stepped towards him, gaze intent. Devouring. Warm hands gripped his sides and time slid like honey from a comb. Breath ghosted across his lips as his body was bent backwards toward the bed. Tilting his chin upward, he sought Spock’s mouth, a desperate, powerful need thumping in his chest. He needed, _he needed_ —

_“Spock,”_ he breathed as a muscular chest pressed against his back and his own name was whispered in his ear. It was _his_ Spock. The relief almost hurt. He wasn’t angry at Jim after all.

Hot, familiar hands caressed him from behind and the heat and need ignited within him, becoming almost unbearable. 

Turning his head, Jim leaned against him and Spock kissed him hungrily. His mouth tasted like wine, but when he opened his mouth to say this, Spock kissed him more deeply. He sucked and bit Jim’s lower lip, reaching around him to massage his chest, and Jim forgot what he’d been going to say. The other Spock kissed his neck, a hand sliding to his naked hip.

The air was burning now, and Jim’s focus had narrowed only to _Spock_. This man he loved in two bodies. Heavy arousals strained against him from two sides, their muscled bodies caging him, skin like hot satin against his. 

Gasping, Jim’s lungs filled with heat instead of air. He felt _drunk_ , the world swaying and spilling over like a too-full glass of whiskey.

Firm hands pulled his legs apart from behind, and Jim’s mouth was claimed by the first Spock again. Moaning, he ground forward as his own Spock pressed against his backside and they all gasped together. Jim was overcome by the _rightness_ of it. This was all he’d ever wanted. To make them both happy. This was how it should be, all of them together, like this…

A hand slid between his legs, and three sets of breath grew labored in his ears. One Spock kissed his mouth and the other anointed his back with kisses while wet fingers slid inside him. Jim loved the feeling, and he bit his lip, trying not to sob. He was so hard. Reaching down, he grasped both of them, and they moaned in unison. 

Soon Jim was being laid back on the bed. Luxuriating in the feel of the sheets against his flushed, oversensitive skin, he let his thighs be spread and the bearded Spock groaned as he pressed into him. Jim’s body bowed; it was too much and not enough. Spock's movements became more powerful and Jim fisted his hands in the sheets, the muscles in his abdomen tightening. The other Spock kissed his jaw, tweaking his nipples and causing him to cry out, and when a wet thumb rubbed his mouth, Jim parted his lips, sucking it hungrily.

Heat was consuming the world around him; his mouth tasted like wine; it was _too much_. His vision went white, legs clenching around the bearded Spock’s waist and his head tipping back into his own Spock’s lap as his hands tightened in the sheets. The bearded Spock’s mouth opened at the sight, and his rhythm stuttered. His grip on Jim’s hips became bruising. When he drew back, Jim felt slickness gush out of him.

Satiated, yet somehow still aching for more, Jim was lifted and turned, his skin now damp with sweat. He loved how they were manhandling him. He could still feel where Spock’s had gripped his hips. A hand threaded through his hair and an arm wrapped around his back, supporting him fully. His face pressed against the other Spock’s chest, leaving him exposed for the other Spock’s taking. Hands massaged his hip bones, and his own Spock sighed with contentment as he pressed inside.

“S—Spock.” Jim’s pants fell from his mouth like prayers as a slow, deep rhythm was established, driving him out of his mind.

The other Spock drew him upward for another kiss. Jim sought his mouth greedily, but Spock pulled back slightly, making Jim reach for him. The hands on his hips tugged him back and Jim moaned loudly. He was hard again, and so was the other Spock. 

Jim bent at the waist, back arching, supported by Spock’s hands on his hips. He wanted to satisfy both of them at once. The bearded Spock gently smoothed his hair, lovingly caressing his cheek as Jim nuzzled him—then gasped as Jim took him in his mouth. The other Spock groaned in arousal at the sight, pressing into him harder. It was so _good_ , Jim couldn’t stand it. The three of them like this was perfect. He was so glad they understood too…

Sometime later, Jim felt himself being laid down on the bed. His brain was sleepy and full of endorphins in a post-exercise haze. The muscles in his legs and core were exhausted and he was ready to drop off. Warm arms looped around him from both sides, and gentle hands caressed his face, gliding over his cheekbones, lips. Jim was too worn out to open his eyes, even as the caressing became more insistent.

“Spock,” he murmured. 

The hands moved to the sides of his face, his meld points, and Jim wasn’t sure what was going on. Was Spock reading his thoughts? Before he could ask, a hand slid to his throat, squeezing. For a moment it felt good—like a caress—but then it tightened. Eyes flying open, Jim tried to speak, but the squeezing pressure was crushing his throat. He couldn’t breathe. His hands scrabbled uselessly at the hand as his chest began to convulse. 

“Whore.”

Spock’s angry, betrayed face blurred in front of him. As he lost consciousness, he couldn’t even tell which of them was killing him.

Jim woke in a cold sweat, gasping and shaking. He was still naked and his heart was pounding so hard it hurt. Guilt was constricting his chest and his breath was labored—as though the hand were still around his throat. He was still hard. Which made him feel wrong. Disgusting.

Wiping his face with a hand, he tried to calm himself down.

“Jim?”

Starting, he turned to see Spock looking at him. But he was the _wrong_ Spock. Seeing his face—bearded and strange—sent a wave of nauseous, terrified guilt coursing through him. Did he know what Jim had been dreaming about? _How much he’d enjoyed it?_ What would he do if he did? Everything that had felt so good and right moments ago was quickly taking on the clammy, horrifying quality of a nightmare; Jim felt as though he had betrayed both Spocks at once. 

Spock’s face grew concerned. It made him look even more like _Jim’s_ Spock—an awful, jarring mockery. He hardly knew this person. “All is well,” the wrong Spock said. “It is only me.”

Jim had to stop himself from shuddering. Instead he nodded, still feeling shaky: overcome by the bone-deep sense of guilt. He could see clearly now that he was _using_ one Spock to replace the other, and he was horrified at himself. He couldn't less this continue.

A look of fondness crossed the wrong-Spock’s eyes, and for a single, horrifying moment, Jim thought he wanted sex. 

“It was only a nightmare,” Spock said, reaching out and clumsily stroking Jim’s cheek with a scarred hand, wiping away a tear he hadn’t realized was there. Jim kept himself still under the touch. It felt just like the one in his dream, before he’d been strangled. 

Spock drew his hand away, still looking at him with concern. The concern made Jim feel even worse, for being repelled by this person who clearly cared about him. 

“Yeah,” Jim breathed out, trying to believe what Spock had said. That the guilt and horror he felt were simply the after-effects of a dream. The immediacy was fading with the adrenaline, and he could almost make himself believe it.

“Come back to bed, Jim,” Spock said, reaching over to turn off the lamp that he must've turned on at some point. He pulled Jim close against his chest, encircling him in his arms. Lying there, Jim breathed out shakily. All he wanted was to go back to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: sexual content, guilt, asphyxiation, sex-shaming language (the word used is in Jim @ Jim; it's his own subconscious).
> 
> couldn't resist the Russian lit parallels:
> 
> “But in dreams, when she had no control over her thoughts, her position presented itself to her in all its hideous nakedness. 
> 
> One dream haunted her almost every night. She dreamed that both were her husbands at once, that both were lavishing caresses on her. Alexey Alexandrovitch was weeping, kissing her hands, and saying, ‘How happy we are now!’ And Alexey Vronsky was there too, and he too was her husband. And she was marveling that it had once seemed impossible to her, was explaining to them, laughing, that this was ever so much simpler, and that now both of them were happy and contented. But this dream weighed on her like a nightmare, and she awoke from it in terror.” —Leo Tolstoy, _Anna Karenina_


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to [summerofspock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerofspock/pseuds/summerofspock) for the beta.  
> Warnings in endnotes

Even with his eyes closed, Spock could nevertheless feel the slow rise of the morning sun on his face. A gentle heat from the southeast, where New Vulcan turned towards β-Azmidi: a solitary star instead of the three sisters of Vulcan-that-was.

From the house behind him, he heard a door open and close quietly, followed by soft footsteps.

Spock opened his eyes. The desert was pink, framed by outcroppings of weathered rock, the air fragrant with stalwart, xerophytic vegetation which no one had yet had time to name. This land had no stories. No sacred mountains, ancient cities, or guiding constellations. Only sand, prefabricated buildings and the painful struggle to create something new.

“Good morning,” said his elder counterpart, appearing on his right. He was carrying two cups of tea and wearing a traditional Vulcan robe, similar to the one he had lent Spock.

Spock nodded at him, accustomed to the illogical form of address, but enough to return it.

“Would you like some tea?” his elder asked, approaching and extending one of the cups.

“Thank you,” Spock said, accepting it and taking a polite sip. His eyes widened fractionally at the taste. It was earl grey. His mother’s favorite. He had not imbibed it since her passing, and it’s scent was full of memories, both poignant and melancholy.

Without remarking on his small display of emotion, his counterpart took a seat across from him on the sand, his movements sure, if slow. And as he had been the night before, Spock was again confronted with the incalculable strangeness of being face to face with an older version of himself.

It was a profoundly disconcerting experience. Having spent so much time around Humans, Spock had grown used to their inability to read his minute facial expressions, and had relaxed his control somewhat. This Vulcan, by contrast, gave the impression that he knew each and every one of Spock’s thoughts, secrets, and feelings. It was not the aggressive and unknown form of telepathy his other counterpart employed, but it nonetheless made Spock wary.

Settling into a pose that mirrored his own, his counterpart clasped his teacup with both hands, radiating a robust serenity which Spock himself felt the distinct lack of.

“Was your meditation helpful?” his counterpart asked. His dark, too-perceptive eyes seemed already to know the answer, and Spock wondered uncomfortably if his own eyes were that expressive.

He exhaled, pushing aside those thoughts.

“Not as much as I had wished.” His mind was clearer, but his predicaments had not disappeared. Yesterday’s darkness had receded, but Spock did not think it had vanished entirely, and he could not help glancing at the dwelling from which his counterpart had come. Where he lived alone—as Spock himself was. That was the circumstance which bothered him most. He had never been able to picture himself as anything other than alone, yet it was unpleasant to have that destiny confirmed.

“However I am grateful for your generosity,” he added sincerely, taking another sip of tea.

His counterpart waved a hand in what was to Spock an almost shockingly Human gesture. “I wish that I could be of greater assistance.” His brow furrowed slightly. “Your predicament is…novel. Unlike you, I never encountered my alternate self—though my Captain did. I know only that he was dangerous, but that Jim believed him to be capable of better impulses than his universe would indicate. Before he left, my Captain offered him a choice. Neither of us, however, ever discovered his fate.” His elder trailed off pensively, in the manner of old men.

Spock could not decide how to process this information. In their discussion the night before, his elder called his counterpart's origin ‘the mirror universe’ a fanciful, if apt name with troubling implications. If Spock’s ‘mirror self’ was truly his opposite, did that mean he was inherently so—or merely that their external influences had been different? And if the former, did that imply his counterpart was essentially evil?

 _No more than I am essentially good_ , Spock supposed.

“All this to say, you and I are not the same,” his counterpart continued. “Our lives have been different, and I have no doubt will go on to be more so. For this reason, I do not wish to exert undue influence on you, as your decision must be your own and I cannot pretend any special insight into your position.” He took a sip of tea, his eyes smiling for a moment. “Except, of course, what age affords.”

“And yet you saw fit to intervene for the sake of my ‘friendship’ as you called it, with the Captain,” Spock said, his voice level despite the accusation inherent in the words. “Explain your inconsistency. What was your own relationship with your captain that you deemed it necessary to intercede?”

“I believe you have guessed,” his counterpart said with a small, half-melancholy smile.

Spock felt the thud of confirmation in his side. What logic had hinted at, he had seen as emotion in his counterpart’s eyes each time he mentioned his Jim. “Yet you have stated that our destinies are not the same,” he persisted. “With so much else altered, it would seem unlikely that such a relationship would be duplicated. And yet you broke your own rules to forward it. Why?”

“Is it so very unlikely that certain things are meant to transcend more than one lifetime?” His counterpart looked at him with sad, knowing eyes. “Have you not found this to be the case?”

Spock stiffened at the implication. Throughout his disclosure of his counterpart’s behavior and his concern for Jim’s safety, he had neglected to mention his own more…personal motives. He had hardly admitted to _himself_ that such motives were possible until a few days ago, let alone with regard to another male—yet as obvious as his elder’s feelings were to him, Spock supposed his own must be plainer still. He took a sip of tea without tasting it.

“Yes,” he said slowly, staring into his teacup. “I have. I—” His heart beat in his throat as he formed the words for the first time. They felt too big for his mouth. Too big for this single universe.

Yet they were as undeniable as the sun itself, and Spock met his counterpart’s eyes as resolutely as he could. “I love him.”

Heart still racing, Spock scrutinized his counterpart’s reaction. To his surprise, he looked…proud?

“It is well,” his elder said, something deep working behind his eyes. “It takes great courage to be honest about one’s emotions. Few have such. I did not, when I was your age.”

Breathing out slowly, Spock unclenched hands that he had tightened involuntarily. Now that he had spoken the words allowed, they seeped into his body like the heat of the sun. _‘I love him,’_ thumped his heart with every beat.

“Will you speak with him?” he asked. “I fear for his safety.”

Spock was still ashamed of his own failure to communicate with his captain. Although his intentions had been to caution, he recognized in hindsight that he had not been in the correct frame of mind to address Jim on the subject—his thoughts still preyed upon by images of Jim in the arms of his mirror self, twisted by jealousy, shame and anger.

His counterpart nodded gravely. “Yes. But you must do so as well.”

Spock was about to protest that it would do no good, but his counterpart held up a hand, his mouth quirking slightly. “Although you may consider apologies to be illogical, I have found that when dealing with Humans, they are often the most effective option,” he said, eyes twinkling.

Spock found that he could not counter this logic. “You are correct, Elder,” he said as he got to his feet, offering an arm to his counterpart.

As he did so, his stomach growled. Realizing that he had not consumed any sustenance since early the day before, Spock was suddenly aware of how hungry he was.

“May I offer you breakfast?” his counterpart asked, accepting his arm and rising creakily to his feet.

“That would be welcome,” Spock said, mildly embarrassed. “I thank you for your assistance.”

“As I thank you for yours,” his counterpart said, as they walked back towards the house.

When they reached the door, his counterpart held it open, placing a warm hand on his back. “You are not alone in this, Spock.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: mention of canon character death, coming out
> 
> Directly after this scene, Spock Prime is like: “Okay, but setting aside all the mushy stuff, if you want to catch a man, it's all about the _Look_.™” *puts an arm around young Spock.* “Let’s go inside and talk eyeshadow and bending over the scanner. It’s all about the angle....”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to [summerofspock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerofspock/pseuds/summerofspock) for the beta.  
> Warnings in endnotes

Jim woke to find that the visceral horror and shame of last night’s dream had vanished with the morning. 

What remained instead was a vague sense of uneasiness—but one that was simple enough to dismiss in the warm, buttery light that poured through a window and the warmth he was surrounded by. The bed was soft in the special, perfect way beds sometimes were in the morning, and Spock was gently caressing his elbow. Jim wanted to stay where he was for the rest of his life. 

Unfortunately, he’d made plans.

“I have to go,” he groaned, pressing his face into Spock’s shoulder.

“Or you could stay,” Spock said, his voice deep. His touch on Jim’s elbow became suggestive, traveling up his arm, and Jim struggled with himself as heat rose inside him. He could probably stay just a little longer—

“I can’t,” he forced himself to stay, shifting slightly away from the touch. If Spock kept touching him, he’d lose himself to it and he had things he needed to do. “I promised. Anyway, Bones’ll hunt me down if I don’t show up.”

“Then I shall accompany you,” Spock said.

Brow furrowing, Jim pushed himself up to look Spock in the face. “Is this because of yesterday?” Jim’s tone was light, as though all of this meant nothing. “Because I shouldn’t have asked. It’s not something you owe me and I’m sorry for bringing it up.”

But with the mention of yesterday evening, Jim felt insecure all over again. 

_Meld with me._

He’d wanted reassurance. _Proof_ , even. That his own Spock was wrong and all the horrible accusations he’d made weren’t true. That this Spock wasn’t just using him for sex or to manipulate his own Spock somehow. 

But this Spock hadn’t responded right away, and Jim had felt all of his deepest fears well up in the silence. What if his Spock was right? _He_ obviously didn’t want Jim that way, so what if this Spock didn’t either? _What if no one did?_

Shame had quickly swallowed up his fear and Jim had started backtracking. He was being irrational. Clingy, even. Foisting your insecurities onto someone else—especially the person you were sleeping with—was always a bad idea. 

So before Spock could respond, Jim had begun kissing him. Spurred by his ravenous desire for assurance and affection and his need to get rid of his doubts, he’d _kept_ kissing Spock and they’d ended up having sex. It’d been awesome of course, but Jim had still felt that needy mix of doubt and craving for affection afterwards. 

That probably explained his dream.

What he _really_ wanted was for his own Spock to take back everything he’d said. To tell him that he was _worth_ it. For both Spocks to tell him how much they needed him and hold him like they had in his dream. 

But that was stupid. Everybody wanted to be told they were a special snowflake and Jim was no different. Sex was sex. Wanting it didn’t make you a whore, but having it didn’t mean anything special either. No one owed him anything.

All the same, Jim felt another wave of nauseous insecurity and doubt that he couldn’t quite beat down. 

Sitting up next to him, Spock brushed his arm lightly. It was one of those gentle touches that made him ache all over in a way that had nothing to do with sex. They were so like the touches his Spock might give. The kind of touches his Spock would never give him. “There is no need to apologize,” Spock said. “I only wish to be by your side.”

Nodding, Jim’s eyelids fluttered involuntarily. The air shifted and grew warmer. Their faces were inches apart, and Jim knew that if Spock kissed him now, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from letting Spock take him apart.

“Okay,” he said, clambering off the bed hastily. Spock leaned back, observing him with hooded, lazy eyes—as though he knew everything that had just passed through Jim’s mind. 

Jim put his hands on his hips, trying to summon a little bit of captainly dignity. “But we’ve got to hurry. I told Bones I’d be there when his shuttle got in.”

“Very well,” Spock said. But his eyes were raking over Jim’s naked body, and it was obvious he was paying more attention to that than what Jim had said.

Torn between amusement and annoyance, Jim rolled his eyes, turning to head for the fresher. Spock was probably staring at his ass, and Jim couldn’t help how that knowledge boosted his confidence; a balm to his insecurity from moments before. 

“Give me five minutes for a shower,” he called over his shoulder. “Bones’ll freak if I’m not there.” 

_And put some clothes on!_ he added mentally. Spock was hot as hell, and he knew it too—knew it, and was purposefully letting Jim see. Only when he was out of the room with the door closed did Jim feel like he feel like he had space to think. _Jim_ was used to being the one who had that kind of effect on people, and it was strange to have the tables turned. He wasn’t sure if he liked it. Where had Spock even _learned_ that? 

Jim had a bad feeling he might know, and that the question shouldn’t be ‘where’ but ‘from who?’ 

Activating the sonics with a voice command, Jim breathed out, trying to shake these thoughts and the pervasive unease that hadn’t quite disappeared, no matter what he’d told himself. His response to the dream was still bothering him. The conviction that he was doing something wrong, that he should break everything off before it was _too late_ —such thoughts swirled at the edge of his mind, vague and bothersome.

None of that was real, he decided. Just a weird, confusing dream. He just wasn’t used to relationships was all. His own Spock—

Jim firmly shoved those thoughts away too. _That_ Spock was uptight. He just had his panties in a twist because it was another version of himself; he’d get over it. Jim wasn’t doing anything wrong and there was no reason for him to feel weird about any of this. 

But then why had he pushed back on Spock coming with him to pick up Bones?

Jim chewed his lip. It definitely wasn’t that he didn’t want to be with Spock, but well…he couldn’t deny that he was nervous about people seeing them together. Specifically Bones. Jim hadn’t had too many relationships that’d gotten outside the bedroom, and he was skittish about the implications. 

That was all. He was _glad_ Spock didn’t have the same reservations and so _what_ if Bones saw them together? He never approved of Jim’s decisions anyway. Spock liked him and wanted to spend time with him. That’d show S— _Bones_ that everything was fine.

_Fuck._

Scrubbing his face with his hand, Jim sighed. All of this was so much more complicated than he’d expected. Part of him wished that everything could just go back to the way it was before. It’d all been so spontaneous and natural at first, without any of these weird feelings.

But was that even true? From the beginning Jim had known this couldn’t be just another casual one night stand. This was _Spock_ , and that made everything different. 

…But this also _wasn’t_ Spock. 

As stupid as it sounded, Jim was finally starting to get that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: guilt, tangential mention of slut-shaming language
> 
> exact picture of Jim's psyche:  
> 


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to [summerofspock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerofspock/pseuds/summerofspock) for the beta.  
> 

_‘Hot as Vulcan’—Jesus, they weren’t lyin’_ , Bones thought as he made his way down the aerobridge. Less than half a minute on this godforsaken dust-ball of a planet and he was already sweating like a hog.

Hefting his bag, Bones adjusted the pink plastic bracelet around his wrist. 

That made him smile. Jo would definitely tease him for being a baby about the heat if she were here. New Vulcan might’ve felt like stepping into an oven, but Georgia’s humidity was like walking through soup—and if he so much as looked like he was going to complain, she’d go all theatrical and _satirize_ him: “Oh Lord, I feel faint,” she’d say in an exaggerated Dixie drawl, putting a hand to her forehead. “It’s hot as H-E double hockey-sticks. Somebody fan me.”

Bones figured it was only right he’d ended up with the world’s most sarcastic 11-year old. Outspokenness was pretty much his bread and butter, and no doubt everyone who knew him would agree he deserved the lampooning.

To be fair, Jo got it from both sides. His ex-wife was an IP lawyer after all: her degree was in taking the stuffing out of people. Not that the _degree_ was what mattered of course. Both of them had liked arguing too much.

Sighing heavily, Bones exited the aerobridge and began working his way through the crowded terminal. Five days with your only kid after six months of missions wasn’t nearly enough, and after a bumpy overnight shuttle to Space Station 1 and a 48-hour ride on a cramped supply ship on route to Vulcan, the jet-lag had him worn slap out. 

It’d been worth it, of course. They’d had five days of Piedmont Park swimming pools, chili burgers and fries at Nu-Way, and whale sharks at the aquarium (Bones had spent the whole time vigorously applying sunscreen and making Joanna do the same—he’d still gotten a sunburn, she hadn’t), while Jocelyn and her fiancé vacationed on Enbo IV. Bones had even had time to do Jo's hair—the way he’d learned how when she was younger. It’d been twists this time.

At last exiting the terminal into the open air, Bones surveyed the sweep of New Vulcan’s sands. They were dusky in the early morning light, but amid the crowds going in and out of the docking station, 

Jim was relatively easy to pick out: one of the few blondes in a sea of dark heads and alien ears. He was wearing a t-shirt that read ‘No Drama’—which was either a self-deprecating joke or the most ironic lack of self-awareness this side of the Alpha Quadrant. 

Bones was half-inclined to think it was the latter. For all he was a genius, kid didn’t have the sense God gave a goose.

Their eyes met, and Bones grinned. “Missed me?”

Raising his eyebrows, Jim smiled back lazily. “I could’ve used a few more nag-free days.”

Bones snorted. “Very funny,” he said, moving to give Jim a one-armed hug. “Unfortunately, somebody’s gotta make sure that you don’t kill yourself with your breakfast.” He was _not_ going to mention all the chili burgers. 

Smoothly ignoring the pointed comment about his less-than-stellar diet, Jim returned the hug. “How’s Joanna?”

“Great. Here, look,” Bones said, pulling out his hand-held PADD and tapping it. The screensaver was the photo of him and Joanna outside the Fernbank Science Center. Both of them were smiling, and she was wearing the other bracelet she’d made. “Says she wants to be a doctor.” 

Jim smiled as he looked at it, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “You must be very proud of yourself.”

“Don’t know what you mean,” Bones said haughtily. Then he relented. “Thanks for the vacation, Jim. We needed it.”

Five days wasn’t near enough—but it was five hundred times better than nothing. After a last look at the photo on the hand-held, Bones pressed the power button and slid it into his pocket. He was waiting for Jim to accuse him of getting soppy or making a joke about how it’d been a vacation for him. But the rejoinder never came.

“Bones,” Jim said instead. It was his tone that made Bones look up. It wasn’t worried exactly, but it was missing the careless ease of a moment ago. A second later, Bones saw why. 

“What…” _in tarnation?_ His first thought was that Spock had grown a beard. But he’d been gone less than ten days total—could Vulcan facial hair grow that fast? Bones didn’t think so. And if Spock had an identical twin, he’d never mentioned it before.

“I’ll explain later,” Jim murmured. “Just don’t make a scene—kay?”

Bones made no promises. Maybe it was because he’d just gotten back from visiting his daughter, but all his parental instincts were going off like crazy. The ‘Beastie Boys’ logo might as well’ve read _‘bad news.’_

“Bones, this is Spock,” Jim said in a louder voice—as though that explained anything. “Spock, this is—wait. You have your own Bones too, right?”

Bones had stopped listening. He had no idea what Jim was talking about, and he didn't care. He was still staring at the man’s t-shirt. It was too small in the shoulders and completely incongruous with the ‘I could kill you with my little finger’ vibe the stranger gave off stronger than the scent off a hay cart in August. _And_ he recognized it. “Are you wearing Jim’s clothes?”

Jim let out an exasperated sigh. “Good job, Bones.”

“Yes, Jim,” the Vulcan said, as though Bones hadn’t spoken. “Dr. Leonard McCoy exists in my universe as well.” But although he was addressing Jim, he was looking straight at Bones. Bones looked right back, giving his best unimpressed _‘you’re all hat and no cattle’_ stare, trying to hide the fact that this guy gave him the willies. 

The Vulcan’s expression didn’t change. Without breaking eye-contact, he shifted deliberately closer to Jim, brushing their fingers together. Bones blinked in mute shock. There were several ways to interpret that touch, and he didn’t like any of them.“However, unlike yours, he was missing an eye.”

With another jolt, Bones noticed the scars on his hands, deep and chilling. Definitely _not_ Spock. 

The Not-Spock was looking at Jim now, and the way Jim was looking back made Bones want to throw up. He _knew_ how Jim felt about Spock. Jim had never said it in so many words, but he hadn’t had to. The way he looked at Spock—a mixture of admiration and tenderness—said it all. Seeing Jim _play pretend_ with this stranger was...revolting.

Withdrawing his fingers, the Not-Spock looked back at Bones, a _smirking_ challenge in his eyes. “I always wondered how he lost it.”

_Jesus fucking Christ_ , Bones thought, feeling cold in the pit of his stomach despite the heat. The threat was barely concealed—but somehow Jim hadn’t noticed. _Did that mean...?_

_Jesus_ , he thought again. He’d heard the expression ‘better the devil you know,’ but whoever had said that clearly hadn’t met this guy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .....I went so ham on the southernisms :)) there are so many more I wanted to use.


End file.
